What's Your Fortune, Handsome?
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: All Merlin can think is that if he dies before he actually gets to propose because Arthur is a prat who has chosen this special night to take his time with his food, he is going to haunt Arthur until the day he dies.


_What's Your Fortune, Handsome?_

* * *

*.*.*.*.*

Arthur thinks he is _so_ clever and he is _so_ smart, he thinks he is the only one who can keep a secret and that Merlin will always spell out his true intentions on his face no matter what lies his mouth is telling. He thinks Merlin is incapable of keeping secrets and that it is adorable, really, how seldom he can keep things from Arthur.

And that is little more than _infuriating_.

Because Merlin _can_ , in fact, keep a secret and he _can_ keep things to himself and he has been working on his poker face so Arthur can bite him, because there is _no_ _way_ he is going to find anything out before Merlin is ready for him to this time.

And he wouldn't be so worried about Arthur being right for once and finding out except, well, he has a _plan_. A _plan_ that needs to remain a secret until it doesn't anymore. A _plan_ that Arthur most definitely does not need to know about because he read it on Merlin's face before the moment came. A _plan_ that he is determined for Arthur not to catch wind of. A _plan_ that Arthur will not find out about until the time is right.

 _Will not._

*.*.*.*.*

It is the night Merlin's _plan_ is to be put into action, and God, he is so nervous. He has spent weeks planning this, has spent countless nights staying up thinking and worrying and baking and eating more fortune cookies than he cares to count, and he is plenty prepared but it has been hell keeping this from Arthur. He wonders if his inability to keep things from Arthur has less to do with his _actual_ ability to keep secrets, and more to do with him not _wanting_ to keep things from Arthur. Secrets are messy and tricky and lying by omission is _still_ lying, even _if_ it's for something like this. He knows Arthur won't see it that way at all, but he has still been far too nervous because of all of this, and he refuses to accept that it has anything to do with what he is actually going to do and more to do with having to have kept it from Arthur.

Regardless, he is doing this tonight, he has already decided. He has the ring, has the homemade fortune cookie that looks like a real one from a proper restaurant, and he has Arthur, and there is nothing else that he needs for this.

( _Other_ than nerves of steel to be sure he doesn't back down, but he can't pick those up at the corner store, so the ones he already has, though not quite made of steel, will simply _have_ to suffice.)

The night is going well, however, all things considered. He has ordered Chinese takeaway and he and Arthur have laughed and talked all through-out dinner, and Merlin has only spilled his drink once, which is a normal enough occurrence that Arthur just shakes his head and grins and helps Merlin clean it up when it happens.

It has really been a nice, normal dinner, and there is nothing to worry about as they sit back on the couch, and a laugh falls from Arthur's lips about some stupid joke he has just told that has Merlin rolling his eyes in the most endeared and exasperated sort of way. For a moment, Merlin forgets entirely about his _plan_ , about the fortune cookies in the kitchen, about the words that have been swimming around his mind for weeks now, and that were so tempted to dance across his tongue on far too many occasions that weren't quite the _right_ occasion. (It's a wonder he has _actually_ kept this to himself for so long, really.)

And then Arthur asks, "Where are the fortune cookies, anyway? They remembered to give us some, right? I didn't see any," and leans forward on the couch to move their leftovers and garbage around for a needless moment to search for them.

Merlin's heart skips a beat as he is suddenly reminded of the whole point of this evening, of the ring that's been tucked away inside his pocket for hours and God, his _plan_.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, they did, I just, uhm, forgot them in the kitchen," he says, shrugs as he flashes Arthur a sheepish, apologetic smile that feels forced.

Arthur, however, doesn't seem to understand just how fake it is, doesn't seem to be able to see Merlin's heart pounding furiously in his chest or just how nervous Merlin truly is then. He simply smiles at Merlin in turn, and makes to stand up.

"I can go grab them. I'll be—"

"No!" Merlin says suddenly, jumping to his feet without warning. Arthur raises a curious, eyebrow at him, and Merlin recognizes that look to mean that Arthur is probably wondering if Merlin is a tad bit off kilter or something. Merlin hopes he doesn't think that there is something in the kitchen that Merlin is hiding from him, because if he gets _that_ thought in his mind, there will be no stopping him from going in there to have a look around. " _I'll_ do it. You just… sit there and look pretty, yeah?" he adds teasingly, pushes on Arthur's shoulders gently until he is settled against the back of the couch once again, slouched down lazily, temptingly. "And be ready to kiss me when I get back."

Arthur grins, waggles his eyebrows suggestively, "You say that like I'm not _already_ ready to kiss you right now."

"Well, if you do that I'm not going to get to grab those fortune cookies any time soon, because we're not going to stop at just _one_ kiss, and we both know how much you love fortune cookies, so…"

"Fine, alright, point made," Arthur grumbles, nods towards the kitchen as he kicks his feet up against the table.

Crisis averted, Merlin turns around quickly and makes his way to the kitchen. Just there on the counter are two fortune cookies, right where Merlin left them when their dinner arrived. He grabs both, and opens them, cracks open one of the cookies and munches thoughtfully on it as he reads at the fortune he's going to shove in his pocket in a moment. _All the effort you are making will ultimately pay off_ , it says—well, Merlin certainly _hopes_ so, he snorts to himself, the cookie gone within a short moment as he pockets the slip of paper and turns for the cabinet where the fortune cookie he made himself has been tucked away. His taste so much better than the ones that come from the restaurant, Merlin thinks as he reaches for a plate as well. It looks _exactly_ as the ones from the restaurant do, thankfully, but, if Merlin does say so himself, Arthur will find that it tastes _much_ better than what he is used to.

He places both cookies on the plate so as not to draw suspicion and worries to himself that he will forget whose is whose and will be the one to end up with the _very special_ fortune instead of Arthur. And dear God, that would be the worst thing imaginable, will mean that all his hard work was for nothing. He almost thinks that perhaps he shouldn't have worked so hard to make it look _so much_ like the restaurant ones, but, ah, that was the entire _point_ ; if it didn't look so _perfect_ , Arthur would be suspicious, and the point, of course, is for Arthur to be **_completely_ ** surprised.

As he walks back to the living room, he keeps a special eye on the plate, on the fortune cookie that is Arthur's, and he is sure, as he sits down on the couch, that the one nearest Arthur is, well, _Arthur's_. He would bet his life on it, and is indeed betting his future on it _anyway_ , in a way, so he prays that he is right and has not somehow confused himself in all his nervousness.

"Why are they on a _plate_?" Arthur laughs, sitting up slightly.

Merlin looks over to Arthur and shrugs. "Everyone _knows_ when you serve someone food the presentation is _just_ as important as how the food actually tastes—haven't you ever seen a cooking show before?" he teases.

With a roll of his eyes, Arthur reaches for a fortune cookie, and Merlin swallows, heart racing in anticipation. God, in just a moment, Arthur will break it open and he will read the fortune and—oh _God_ , Merlin bites his bottom lip as Arthur suddenly reaches over what is _supposed_ to be his fortune cookie and grabs _Merlin's_ instead. That was not supposed to happen—this is not how this is supposed to go.

"I want that one!" he blurts suddenly, reaches for Arthur's wrist with the hand that isn't holding the plate.

"Why?" Arthur asks, blinking at Merlin curiously, and of course, Merlin should have expected as much, should have figured Arthur would want to know what difference it makes who eats which one.

"Because it was nearest me, and everyone _knows_ you're supposed to eat the one that's closest to you—it's bad luck _not_ to," he says insistently, grasping for any excuse that he can.

But of course, Arthur can almost always see through Merlin's bullshit, and he shakes his head, says, "I thought it was bad luck _to_ eat the one closest to you?"

"Yeah, but it's _also_ bad luck to read your fortune out loud, and we do that all the time anyway, don't we?"

"Wait, so are you _for_ doing the things that are supposed to be bad luck or _against_ them?" Arthur asks, wide eyed and amused, God, _so_ amused. Everything about this evening has been carefree and light-hearted and Arthur is in _such_ a good mood, and Merlin is acting like _such_ a crazy person, he knows. But he has _every_ reason to, it has been a stressful few weeks, and this night is supposed to be the night when it all comes to fruition and he thinks it was all worth it. Arthur just needs to see the exasperation in his eyes and realize that he _needs_ to give Merlin the cookie that is in his hand and take the one from the plate instead. If ever there was a time for Arthur to momentarily develop the ability to read minds, _now_ is that time.

"I don't know," Merlin shrugs, flashes Arthur a smile that always puts Arthur at ease. "I just want that one. _Please_?"

Arthur bites his bottom lip in thought, and seems to consider it for a moment, and Merlin wonders if he is going to have to try to _take it_ from Arthur using force, but, ah, Arthur will have him pinned down in a moment, if he does that, and then they will kiss and kiss and Merlin will get too distracted to see his _plan_ through to the end, so he hopes things do not have to go that way.

Arthur gives Merlin a sly look then, and says, finally, "I'll trade you, alright? This fortune cookie… for a kiss—deal?"

Merlin pulls a thoughtful enough sort of face, but leans in not a moment later to press his lips happily, gently to Arthur's, stealing more than just one kiss from him in the span of a few moments to allow his nerves to settle as much as he knows they are going to be able to. When he finally pulls away, his hand sneaks up to take the fortune cookie from Arthur's hand, and he all but shoves the plate at him instead.

Arthur just shakes his head, and takes it off the plate, sets the plate on the table and leans back on the couch again, breaks the fortune cookie open slowly—God, Merlin _swears_ he has never seen a fortune cookie opened slower in his life—and takes the slip of paper into his hand without thought, starts crunching on his cookie absently. He glances over at Merlin as he chews, eyebrows shooting high on his forehead in a silent question and _ah_ , Merlin remembers what is in his own hand, and breaks it open as well, the slip of paper in his hand and the cookie in his mouth as Arthur's is.

He thinks the anticipation will kill him, and keeps his eyes on Arthur, because he _needs_ to have the ring out and get down on his knee the second Arthur reads what has been written on the paper he has in his hand; it will be a disaster if his timing is off by even a second, after all. But God, could Arthur chew any slower?

"These taste different to you?" Arthur asks around his mouthful, face scrunched together in thought as he does.

Merlin shakes his head, chews furiously and swallows, his treat gone within a quick moment, though Arthur works on his for a few moments longer, savoring every bite, it seems. Jesus Christ, Merlin's heart hasn't beat out a normal rhythm for _several_ long moments now, and he is sure that must be bad, and all he can think is that if he dies before he _actually_ gets to propose because Arthur is a prat who has chosen _this_ special night to take his time with his food, Merlin is going to haunt him until the day he dies as well. And then he is going to bug him about it in whatever afterlife there is as well, just to be sure he gets the message.

Thankfully, Arthur _finally_ seems to be finished, brushes the crumbs off his hands, and turns to face Merlin.

"What's yours say?" he asks, as he always does when they have Chinese for dinner.

Merlin tells him without really hearing the words himself, " _Competence like yours is underrated,"_ and Arthur laughs a _brilliant_ sort of laugh that coaxes a smile out of Merlin. He shoves the paper into his pocket with the other one, and gives Arthur a prodding look, heart racing all the while as he says, needlessly, "Yours?"

Arthur looks down to the paper in his hand with his grin still on his face, and Merlin moves without thought, just as practiced and planned, ring box out of his pocket and facing Arthur as quickly as he can manage as he lowers himself to the floor on one knee. He barely notices that Arthur's grin has faltered, eyes are focused on the small slip of paper far too intensely.

"Arthur?" he prods gently, clearing his throat, the word barely coming out around his jumbled nerves. "What does it say, love?"

Arthur looks up finally, from the words to Merlin and the nervous smile he is sporting, and licks his lips. His face is perfect then, Merlin thinks, still and unbelieving, a look in his eyes that tells Merlin he is mere seconds away from crying. But he looks _happy_. Disbelieving, but happy, at least, and Merlin thinks he will cherish the memory of the look on Arthur's face just then for the rest of his life.

"It says…" he loses his voice then, and suddenly there is a lump in Merlin's throat that he has to swallow around. Arthur smiles looks back to the paper before he shakes his head and begins again, "It says, _Will you…"_

 _"… marry me?"_ Merlin finishes when Arthur's voice falls off again. As Arthur drops the paper to the floor, Merlin gives him a hopeful look, repeats the words gently, "Will you marry me, Arthur? I—"

" _Yes_."

Merlin lets out a sigh of relief, and it doesn't matter that he has an entire speech planned out that he spent weeks working on along with that fortune cookie recipe, doesn't matter that he has _so much_ he wants to say, so many metaphors for how Arthur makes him feel, for how much he loves him, how much he wants, more than he has ever wanted anything before in his life, to spend every second of their futures together—none of it matters because Arthur has said _yes_ even without all those things falling from his mouth. He has said yes to a simple question that held the weight of their future on it. He has said yes, and it is then that Merlin thinks it was all worth it.

Instead of the planned words that Arthur has effectively wiped from his mind, Merlin says instead, "Are you going to kiss me or what, Pendragon?" He thinks it is a fair question, really, because he is _still_ down on one knee and he is _still_ holding this damned ring, and Arthur has accepted his proposal without even _kissing_ him yet, and Merlin thinks that is a crime against humanity and proposals everywhere.

"Well, if you insist," Arthur mumbles, lowers himself down to the floor with Merlin to catch him in a kiss that nearly knocks Merlin off balance.

Arthur will have questions later, Merlin is sure, about the fortune and just how the hell Merlin managed to pull it off, how he managed to _actually_ keep a secret from Arthur for a change, but for now the only question there is is whether Arthur is going to lower him to the floor to celebrate their engagement, or if they will be able to untangle themselves long enough to make it to the bedroom to make it a _proper_ celebration.

And at some point, Merlin is going to recite that damned speech for Arthur _anyway_.

*.*.*.*.*


End file.
